


Shots

by inkasrain



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Vomiting, vaccination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:52:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkasrain/pseuds/inkasrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's inoculation day for the agents of SHIELD, Simmons gets stuck with the joyful responsibility of administering vaccinations that make everyone wildly ill, and Agent May indulges in unusual honesty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shots

The twelve small vials glistened in the open briefcase, catching the cold light of the laboratory. Milky blue and crystalline green alternated in two rows, colors rich against the black felt padding of the briefcase. Though there was no evident difference in the vials to the naked eye, each set was neatly marked with the name of an individual agent.

It was inoculation day.

Agent Simmons shivered, tapping the intercom button with a hesitant finger. “Initiating protocol two-zero-one,” she said, listening to the tinny echo of her own voice through the plush confines of the Bus. “Everyone report to the laboratory, please.”

* * *

“What do you mean, vaccinations?” Skye demanded, arms folded tightly across her chest. She had wedged herself into the opposite corner of the lab, but her anxiety was infectious. “And why is this just coming up now? Isn’t this the kind of thing you’re supposed to warn me about in advance, S.O.?”

“I told you when I thought you needed to know,” Ward said.

“Which was two seconds ago.”

Ward’s posture was relaxed, but he stood near Simmons, and she could see the tension arching up his arms. “What would you have done in May if we told you we were going to stick needles in your arms in February?” he snapped.

“Needles?” Skye said, horrified. “As in, _plural?”_

“Enough,” Coulson said. “This is protocol for a reason. Nobody likes it, everybody does it. Understood?”

Melancholy silence swelled in the lab. Fitz shrugged from his chair, where he sat with his knees tucked up to his chest.

“I keep hoping it’s not going to come round again,” he said, gazing mournfully at the vials in the briefcase.

“We all do,” Coulson muttered, sliding out of his blazer and working the cuff of his sleeve up his left arm. He spoke so quietly that Simmons hardly caught the words. “May, are you sure we’re good out here?”

Agent May nodded calmly from the entrance to the lab, her face impassive. “This island is a registered SHIELD outpost,” she said. “I’ve been here before. Nothing out there but sand.”

“Good.” Coulson glanced at Simmons. ”Are you ready for this, Agent Simmons?”

She nodded, every nerve as alive as it had been the first time she and Fitz had hit a combat zone. _Don’t be ridiculous,_ she told herself. _You’re just administering vaccines._

Her adrenaline thrummed, unmoved by her logic.

Simmons took a deep breath and selected the green vial from the briefcase, lying underneath Coulson’s name. Unsheathing the needle and fitting in the plunger, she looked up carefully at her boss. “One arm or two, sir?” she asked.

“One is fine,” he said. “Just get it over with.”

It had been some time since Simmons had applied an injection in the standard way - synthetic eyeballs were decidedly irregular - and she had to stop herself from wincing at the tough pressure of the deltoid muscle against the needle. “Just relax,” she whispered, though Coulson hadn’t flinched as the needle went in.

After injecting the blue vial, Simmons handed Coulson the small screen that had arrived with the briefcases; he added his thumbprint to the space beneath his name, and Simmons added hers to the space marked “Administering Physician.”

Coulson stood, rolling down his sleeve and sliding back into his suit jacket with only the barest suggestion of stiffness. He looked pointedly across the lab. “Your turn, Skye.”

Simmons expected Skye to argue, but instead she inched around the perimeter of the lab, toward Simmons and the briefcase. Skye was pale, her eyes wide and almost innocent; she looked years younger than she had strolling into the lab at Simmons’ call.

“What’s in these things, anyway?” she asked, a trace of bravado fighting with the quiver in her voice. Simmons glanced anxiously at Ward, but Coulson intercepted smoothly.

“Standard infectious disease immunization,” he said. “Plus a few extra bells-and-whistles. Whatever SHIELD thinks we need protection from.”

“Such as?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Coulson said blandly, but his smile was warm. “It’s really not that bad, Skye.”

Tiny beads of sweat had begun to glisten on Coulson’s forehead, evidence to his lie, but of course Skye wouldn’t know what to look for. She sighed, pulling off her flannel shirt to reveal the black tank top beneath. “So it’s actually micro-trackers and dormant poison, right?” Skye gave a small laugh that said, _Please tell me that’s not what it is_.

“If SHIELD wanted to take you down,” Coulson said, “Do you really think we’d need trackers and poison?”

Skye stuck out her tongue, offering her left arm to Simmons and her right to Ward. “Hold my hand, Agent Ward,” she said. Ward rolled his eyes, but took her hand firmly in his.

Skye whimpered as Simmons aimed the first injection into her goosepimpled arm, and Simmons frowned in concentration. The truth was, none of them knew what exactly _was_ in the yearly vaccinations received by SHIELD operatives across the globe. SHIELD’s department of health superseded every clearence level Simmons knew about, and the vaccine formulas were reportedly so sophisticated that they would resist analysis by even SHIELD’s very powerful standard-issue microscopes.

Not that Simmons had ever tried to analyze those formulas; tampering in any way with the yearly course of vaccines was a Code Orange offense, in order to protect the safety and health of the agents receiving them.

Or at least, that’s what was written on the small plastic pamphlet tucked inside the briefcase.

“Dammit, Skye,” Ward muttered softly, as Simmons administered the second vaccine. Her knuckles were white in his hand, squeezing furiously. A tear leaked it’s way down her cheek.

“All finished!” Simmons said, as brightly as she could, holding out the thumbscreen. “Well done, Skye.”

Coulson smiled wanly at Skye as she tapped her thumb on the screen; her hand shook slightly. “The hard part is over,” Coulson lied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Skye blinked furiously, glancing at the boss as he beat his hasty retreat up the spiral staircase. “Is he okay?”

“Sure,” Ward said, pushing up his own sleeve. “Sometimes these vaccs can make you a little… sleepy. Sometimes.”

“What?” Skye’s outrage was back, barely tempered by the throbbing pain Simmons knew must be building in her arm. “You didn’t tell me there were side effects!”

“Everything has side effects, Skye,” Ward said, grinding his teeth so hard that Simmons could almost hear their protest as she bent over his well-defined muscle.

“Yeah, but usually you have a choice before you - oh.” Skye stopped abruptly, and Simmons glanced up in time to watch the color drain from her face. “Shi--” she began, and promptly vomited into a bucket proffered moments before by Agent May.

“Oh, hell,” Fitz muttered from his chair. “It’s one of _those_ this year.”

Simmons winced as Skye continued to empty her stomach. She swiveled back to Ward, who was eying the the second vaccine in her hand like it was a live grenade.

 _He’d probably prefer the grenade_ , Simmons mused unhappily as she depressed the plunger and watched the milky blue liquid disappear.

“That’s you done, Agent Ward,” she said, quickly replacing the sixth empty vial in the case and holding out the screen for his thumbprint. “You’d better get the both of you upstairs… this might last a while.”

Skye clutched her bucket as Ward ushered her to the stairs, already a little unsteady on his own feet. “Why?” she moaned, looking plaintively at Simmons.

“I don’t know, Skye,” she said helplessly, wishing she could say something more comforting. “It’s just… it’s protocol. It’s standard, you know, I... I’m sorry.”

The only response was a distant groan from Ward, and the unpleasant sound of the bucket earning its place on the Bus.

* * *

Giving Coulson, Skye, and Ward their vaccines had been difficult. Inoculating Fitz was a nightmare.

“For heaven’s sake, Fitz,” she cried. “Stop shaking!”

“I’m not shaking!” he yelled back at her, trembling like a leaf in his cotton undershirt. “It’s _cold_ in here!”

“We’re on a tropical island, how can you _possibly_ be--”

“Tell that to the climate control, it’s--”

“--something must be _wrong_ with you, you’re always--”

“--frost on the bloody windows, it’ll be a wonder if--”

 _“--never_ simple with you--”

“--so _defensive_ all the time--”

Agent May cleared her throat. Fitz jumped like he’d been shocked and Simmons dropped the thumbscreen, which thankfully proved durable.

“Agent Simmons, do you need help administering Agent Fitz’s vaccine?” May’s voice was neutral and calm, but Simmons felt as though she had been slapped. She had to fight the urge to cry.

“No,” she said, and picked up the first vial again. _“Please_ hold still, Fitz.”

“Because I can hold him down if need be.”

Simmons choked out a laugh as Fitz stiffened in protest. “I do not need holding-- ouch! Bloody _hell! Ouch!”_

“One down,” she said, calmly as she could, and reached for the second vial. Fitz’s eyes followed her hand, and she noticed that he was squinting against tears. Simmon’s heart twisted.

“Alright, Fitz?” she asked softly.

He licked his lips, glancing at May, who had turned to study the wall unit. “Simmons,” he whispered, “Could you… could put that one in the other arm?”

“Oh! Of course,” she said, shifting to Fitz’s right side. “God, Fitz, do you remember our first vaccination day?”

“Barely,” he admitted, and let out a long hiss as the second needle did its job. “You… you almost passed out from crying, didn’t you?”

Simmons laughed again. “I think I must have. I don’t remember it either. How are you feeling?”

He grimaced. “Better than I will in an hour, I expect.”

* * *

Fitz’s words turned out to be a profoundly exaggerated prophecy. Within five minutes, he was drenched in sweat and talking animatedly to the DWARVES between bouts of vomit that he hardly seemed to notice. Simmons and May had to haul him up to his cabin and hope he’d remember to use the bucket; on their way back down to the lab, they heard quiet sobbing from Ward’s room.

Simmons stormed back into the lab, fumbling for a clean pair of gloves and the next-to-last vials in the briefcase. Her adrenaline had drained away to nothing, leaving pools of exhaustion behind. Just May still to do, and then Simmons would be alone on the Bus with five raving agents, left to prick the protocol-mandated stew into her own veins and fall asleep in her own sick.

“I’m sorry Agent May,” she said, voice splintering with strain. “Just give me a moment, and I’ll--”

A cool hand landed on her own, gently tugging the needle away. “Breathe, Simmons,” May said, quietly. “Let it out.”

The laboratory blurred around Simmons then, blue and green vials swimming together in an innoculatory kaleidoscope. She sagged against the table, pressing her gloved palms against her eyes, but the tears escaped anyway.

“Why do they make us do this?” she cried. “Load us up with chemicals until we’re too sick to walk? Not even telling us _why?_ Skye’s right, this isn’t sane, it isn’t _normal!”_

A long silence followed, chipped by the sound of wheels skating against the smooth tile floor. Simmons opened her eyes to see that Agent May had pulled over Fitz’s chair.

“Sit,” she ordered, and Simmons did, her stomach sinking and color rising to her cheeks as the outburst passed. May leaned against the lab table, arms crossed.

“I’m sorry,” Simmons blurted. “I know it’s protocol, I know it’s right, I just--”

“Agent Simmons, how old were you when you were recruited to join SHIELD?”

Simmons blinked. “Sixteen,” she said. “Fitz and I, we were both--”

“That was wrong,” said May. “What our organization did to you then was wrong, Agent Simmons, and what they did to us today was wrong. There’s nothing we can do about that, though.” She pulled a fresh glove from the box and snapped it over her hand. “Take off your coat and roll up your sleeve.”

“What… what are you doing?” Simmons was unmoored, confused as though she had already injected the drugs into her system. She shrugged out of her lab coat. “This isn’t--”

“I take it you’ve never given yourself an injection,” May said. Simmons blinked, and the ghost of a smile touched the older woman’s lips. “It isn’t fun. I’ll show you how to do it some time, but for today, I think you’ve earned the luxury of having somebody _else_ jam needles into your arm.”

“Oh,” Simmons said, gratitude crashing into a wave of guilt. “But then you’ll have to--”

“I think I can handle it, Agent Simmons,” May said, her tone cutting off any further argument. “Right arm or left?”

Simmons pulled up her left sleeve, watching as May inserted the needle in a smooth, practiced motion.

“Do they make it this painful on purpose?” she gasped, cooler tears running down her cheeks.

“Probably,” May answered, unsheathing the second needle. “Sorry about this.”

“No, no,” Simmons said, as May replaced the empty vial and handed Simmons the thumbpad. “Thank you.”

May smiled again, wider and more sadly this time. “I’m used to this,” she said. “I’m just sorry that you’ll have to get used to it, too.”

* * *

This year’s batch of vaccinations ran a thoroughly bewildering course.

From what Simmons could remember, hours of sweating, vomiting, and mild hallucinations were followed by a dreamless unconsciousness so overpowering, it was hard to call it sleep. Everyone was dizzy and lightheaded after that, and ridiculously thirsty; thankfully, the Bus had enough water on board that no one was tempted to reach for the booze.

The thirst was followed by a few more hours of blissfully restful sleep, from which, to an agent, the entire team awoke feeling healthier than they had in years.

The only evidence of the immunological carnage were the twelve empty vials, and a Bus that reeked like what Fitz dubbed, “Six dead agents in a hot sardine can.”

“Maybe it was like… some kind of crazy alien cleanse,” Skye suggested as she hauled out the sweat-soaked linen from her cabin. The team was heading to the nearest base to get the plane a proper cleaning, but none of them could stand to fly the seven hours with the Bus in such an appalling state.

(“Next year, we are not doing this on the Bus,” had been the very first thing Coulson had said.)

“Perhaps,” Simmons said doubtfully, scrubbing at the trail of sick she had left on the carpet near the bar. “I doubt we’ll ever know.”

“I’m sure it’s for the best,” said Ward, squirting disinfectant on the sticky leather seats. “Obviously, no one died.”

“And as they say,” Fitz added, clattering up the stairs from the cargo bay with two clean buckets full of soapy water. “What happens on inoculation day, stays on inoculation day.”

“Maybe.” Simmons sat back on her heels, eying Ward. Her memories of the inoculation were hazy and unpleasant to examine, but the sound of Ward’s overheard sobbing was hard to shake from her mind.

“Takeoff in 20, people.” Agent May’s cool voice popped suddenly over the loudspeaker. Seconds passed, and then - “How’s everybody feeling?”

Fitz whooped, and Skye laughed, a light sound in the heavy air.

“Better than expected,” Simmons whispered to the carpet. “Much better than expected.”


End file.
